


To Dream in Black and White

by TurntechKnight



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddling, M/M, hardly anything graphic at all, i guess?, implied sex, mild introspection, second person narration (in homestuck fic? wow who else is shocked and amazed), self-indulgent and unadulterated, tags that are longer than the actual fic, yeah it's pretty much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:42:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurntechKnight/pseuds/TurntechKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things in either of you that just don’t work, a pair of prototypes duly left for newer models, but when he buries his face in your chest he sets against you and melts into something softer, kinder, more forgiving than anything you’ve ever known.</p><p>GamTav || Drabble || Fluff + Cuddles</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Dream in Black and White

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taweesha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taweesha/gifts).



You are lying in bed with a boy who is not beautiful (though he might be, if he’d wash off some of that whiteface before his blankets smear it uneven), but in any event it doesn’t matter because you aren’t looking at him; rather, you are suddenly fascinated by the lightplay between you and the window, dapples of weak yellow light staining the floor only to spill up over the mattress and dot your torso. Outside you can hear the pulsing of a shoreline you don’t know, and further still is the gentle rasp of his breathing. You think that maybe there’s something funny about how distance seems to contort on nights like this, but ‘3 AM wearing nothing but your boxers in someone else’s bed’ doesn’t strike you as the best time to be conjuring up theories on spacial relativity. (Or, uh, whatever you’d call it.)

You’re lying in bed with a boy who is not beautiful, and you are suddenly painfully aware of the dead weight of your legs, how against all reason they feel clumsy and leaden splayed over his sheets. But in spite of the familiar desperation muffled in the background, the door-clawing _bangscratchbang_ that threatens to beat its way through your chest and join the lump in your throat -- oh god oh god _ohgodohgod_ \-- it isn’t all bad, this time. Instead, you think it feels a little colder; there’s this sort of upside-down trickle going on, dripping up into your gut like ice-blue paint and coloring your insides electric until your throat is buzzing, and it is terrifying, it is wonderful, it is terrifying. You wonder idly if this is what it feels like to fly.

You’re lying in bed with a boy who is not beautiful (though you’d kill to see that grin), who has teeth like jagged glass and a voice to match, but his arm around your waist is snug and warm, and you know that you are not beautiful, either; you’re the boy with blood the color of burnished copper, the boy so meek and mild he let a girl talk talk talk away the books on his shelf and the days spent running through the grass beside his house. There are things in either of you that just don’t work, a pair of prototypes duly left for newer models, but when he buries his face in your chest he sets against you and melts into something softer, kinder, more forgiving than anything you’ve ever known. And you are suddenly aware that you could stop here, could slowly sink into the mattress bone by bone and joint by joint and stay like this for the rest of your life.

You’re lying in bed with a boy who is not beautiful, and that suits you just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Woefully under-edited -- hastily dashed-off as a gift for Teresa, so I apologize for any errors!
> 
> [tumblr](http://breathkind.tumblr.com/)


End file.
